


After the End of the Story (A Twice-Told Tale Remix)

by Isis



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, La Belle et la Bête | Beauty and the Beast (Fairy Tale), Schneewittchen | Snow White (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/F, Fairy Tale Retellings, Remix, Story within a Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:26:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: We all know how fairy tales go.  They begin withonce upon a timeand end withhappily ever after, stock phrases that bookend each story.  Before and after there is nothing, at least in the fairy tales.  But lives are not like that.





	After the End of the Story (A Twice-Told Tale Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancesontrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancesontrains/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Hole at the Edge of the Story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032702) by [dancesontrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancesontrains/pseuds/dancesontrains). 



> Thanks to Trobadora for very helpful beta.

We all know how fairy tales go. They begin with _once upon a time_ and end with _happily ever after_ , stock phrases that bookend each story. Before and after there is nothing, at least in the fairy tales. But lives are not like that; my life began long before you came into it, my dear, and it will continue after you have married and moved away.

Snow White married her prince, and that was the end of her story. But it wasn’t the end of Snow White. After the jealous queen had been forced to dance herself to death at their wedding, the king – grief-stricken over both the death of his wife and the revelation of her horrible machinations against his daughter – abdicated in favor of Snow White and her new husband. And so Snow White became the queen, and her prince the king. A few years later they had a son, and then a daughter. And to celebrate the fifth year of their reign, they held a great ball.

Nobles came from all over the countryside, and from other lands as well. The receiving line stretched across the ballroom and out into the hall. Ladies were announced and introduced, making their curtsies, and Snow White extended her arm to take them by the hand and lift them to their feet. Lords were announced and introduced, and Snow White extended her arm so they might kiss her hand. Her arm was beginning to ache, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her gracious smile; she was, after all, a princess born, and she knew her duties well.

“My Queen,” said the young lady before her, as she dropped into a deep curtsy.

Snow White reached out to help her to her feet. As the lady straightened, she lifted her face, and Snow White realized, with a start, that it was familiar.

“Oh!” said Snow White. The practiced smile stretched into a real one. “It’s Beauty, isn’t it? I didn’t recognize your married name.” The herald had called out some other name, her husband’s name; he was a minor prince in the far western province of the land. He’d already kissed her hand and moved off to the side.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the lady. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.” It was Beauty’s voice; deeper and richer now at twenty than it had been when they were both fourteen, but to Snow White it carried the sweet song of remembered delights. 

She clasped Beauty’s hand for a moment longer than necessary. “Don’t call me ‘Majesty’ – you’re an old friend! And come back later, when I’m no longer greeting guests. We have so much to talk about.”

Beauty dipped her head and left to follow her husband. Snow White turned to extend her hand to her next guest. But behind the mask of her queenly smile, she was remembering.

* * *

She hadn’t been cosseted as a child, even though she was a princess, and so her childhood had been almost normal. She had friends and playmates, the children of nobles and wealthy merchants, and though her servants chided her for acting like a commoner when she gleefully chased the other children through the mud, her father the king was pleased that she had friends. (He’d been raised by tutors and servants in the severe gloom of his parents’ castle, and had never really learned how to talk to other people. He suspected this was one reason that his second marriage had been so disastrous. His parents had chosen his first bride, and chosen well; but when she’d died, he’d fallen for the first woman who caught his eye. Later, he would realize she’d gone after him with cool calculation; later, he he would learn that she hated his daughter. But at the time, he only watched his child from his window, an indulgent smile on his face, and he never cared how muddy she got.)

As Snow White grew older, the games she played with her friends changed. They stopped running through the mud and instead did the things expected of young well-born ladies: they sat together at their embroidery, or they picked flowers and braided them into wreaths and coronets, or they read stories out loud to each other, tales of dashing princes and beautiful princesses.

“You’ll marry a dashing prince one day,” said Beauty, closing the book she’d been reading from. She sounded wistful.

“Maybe you’ll marry one, too,” said Snow White. She patted her friend’s hand. “Just because you’re not a princess doesn’t mean a prince won’t marry you.”

“I don’t want to marry a prince.”

“Why not? Maybe you’d become a queen!”

“I don’t want to be a queen,” said Beauty. She looked away. 

Snow White frowned. Of all her friends, Beauty was her favorite. She was pretty and kind – almost as pretty and kind as you are, my dear – and best of all, she loved books. Snow White couldn’t imagine anyone who’d be a better queen than Beauty, not even herself. 

All the girls in the books they read together wanted to marry princes. But if Beauty didn’t want that, she must have a reason – and knowing Beauty, it would be a good reason. Her hand was still on Beauty’s, and she squeezed it gently. “What do you want, then?” 

Beauty looked past Snow White’s shoulder to where the old servant who watched over the princess was dozing in her chair, snoring softly. Underneath Snow White’s hand she turned her hand up, so they were palm to palm, and laced their fingers together. 

“I don’t want a prince,” she said, so quietly that Snow White had to strain to hear. “I want a princess.”

Snow White looked at her friend. Golden hair framed a lovely, serious face; she hadn’t really thought about it before, but Beauty was, truly, a beauty. Then Snow White did the only thing she could do – the only thing, she realized, that she wanted to do. Leaning forward, she kissed Beauty on the lips.

* * *

Their games changed again. The books about dashing princes and beautiful princesses remained on the shelves. Now, when the old servant fell asleep, they put their embroidery aside and reached for each other. They hid in the garden and experimented with kissing, tasting each other’s lips and necks, sliding their tongues into each other’s mouth. Hands slid inside bodices and up skirts. Fingers moved under shifts. Beauty learned what made Snow White gasp; Snow White learned what made Beauty moan.

But it didn’t last. Of course it couldn’t last. A tempest sank all of Beauty’s father’s ships at sea, leaving him penniless, and they were forced to leave their fine mansion and move into a small farmhouse. A rich merchant’s daughter was an acceptable playmate for a princess, but a poor merchant’s daughter was no longer welcome at the castle. Snow White’s grief at losing her friend – her lover – gave her youthful features the depth that only comes with maturity, turning her from a pretty girl into a beautiful woman. And we all know what happened after that.

* * *

I can see by your face you want me to tell you that it all ended happily for Beauty and Snow White, after the ball, after the ends of their stories. That Beauty sat beside the queen at the state dinner, and they reminisced in quiet voices, their little fingers surreptitiously twining together under the lace tablecloth. That as each danced with their prince, they locked eyes over their husbands’ shoulders and made silent promises to each other. That after the ball, Beauty slipped away before getting into her husband’s carriage, and Snow White left the castle by a back door, and they saddled horses by moonlight and rode away, heading for a distant land where they might make a life together.

There are indeed places where two women might live happily ever after. But not these two women, who had already written the ends of their stories. Snow White had become a queen, and a wife, and a mother. She had loved Beauty, true, but she also loved her land, and her husband, and her children – not things to be left behind lightly. The same was true for Beauty. And so, though they did spend the state dinner quietly reminiscing, and perhaps their fingers did indeed twine together, they only kissed each other’s cheeks at the end of the evening, and then they bid each other farewell. 

They still saw each other from time to time, of course. There were other balls, and other dinners, and when they came together they warmly greeted each other with hugs, like the old friends they were. If perhaps occasionally they felt as though their lives weren’t actually happy _ever_ after, they were at least happy most of the time, and they did not regret the choices they had made.

And that, my dear, is why I’ve told you this story. I know that your stepsisters treat you cruelly, and that they’ve forbidden you from going to the royal ball this evening. They’re only envious of your beauty, for they each hope to catch the Prince’s eye, and know that with you there neither of them has a chance. If you really want to go to the ball, I can turn those rags into a beautiful jeweled gown, and make that pumpkin over there into a golden carriage that will carry you to the palace. The Prince will fall in love with you – how can he not? It will be a story straight out of the books that Snow White and Beauty read to each other, a story that would make most girls clap their hands in delight.

But I am your fairy godmother, and I know you well enough to think that perhaps you’d prefer a different story. I remember that before your father remarried and your stepsisters turned you into their servant, you had a friend you used to play with, as Snow White and Beauty played with each other – oh, no, dear, I didn’t spy on you! But fairies see truths that are hidden from mortal eyes. 

And that is how I know that poor Rapunzel has been locked away in a tower. She dreams of a rescue, and someday a prince will ride through the forest and find her there. He will hear the witch who has imprisoned her call out, and will learn the secret of how to climb to her tower room. He will help her escape, and they will marry, and they will live happily ever after – or at least, they will be happy most of the time. 

Unless you get there first.

So, child, tell me, which will it be? Shall I turn six mice into horses to draw your golden carriage to the palace? The Prince will fall in love with you, and you shall marry, and perhaps you will have a ball and invite Rapunzel and her own prince, and you will share a gentle laugh over the memories, the things that two girls did long ago. Or shall I turn a single mouse into a horse that will carry you to Rapunzel’s tower?

You can choose the end of your story, and I will help you write it. What happens after that is up to you.


End file.
